Apostle of the Goddess of War

Chapter 17

Ch.17 Apostle of the Goddess of War

When Sion opened his eyes, it was twilight once again.  

He had fallen asleep at sunrise and woken up at sunset.  

Considering he had fought for his life against a demon and continuously absorbed demonic energy, transforming it into divine power without rest, his recovery speed was extraordinary.  

When he went to find Roben, he discovered Roben had already returned from Foils.  

The changed atmosphere among the Order of the Holy Sword members and Roben’s new attitude made Sion feel awkward instead.  

“Please, take a seat, Sir Sion.”  

“Y-yes… yes…”  

“First, as promised, I will hand over the reward for the sacred relic retrieval mission, along with additional compensation.”  

Sion nodded.  

Accounts had to be settled clearly, after all.  

“The expenses related to the sacred relic will be processed immediately once I return to the Holy Kingdom and file the request. If you don’t trust me, I can personally—”  

Sion waved his hand dismissively. There was no need to go that far.  

“I trust you.”  

“Thank you.”  

Once the formalities were completed, Roben scratched his cheek. He looked like someone who had more to say.  

“Um, and…”  

Roben hesitated slightly.  

He felt ashamed in front of his subordinates.  

But a promise was a promise.  

Breaking it would tarnish his honor as a knight.  

“I apologize.”  

Sion, whose heart had already softened,  

snorted and replied playfully,  

“If you’re going to apologize, do it properly.”  

“For doubting and criticizing the Church of War, for maliciously tormenting you throughout our journey, for disrespecting you, Sir Sion, and for every word and action of mine that may have upset you.”  

Surprisingly, receiving the Order of the Holy Sword’s apology didn’t feel as satisfying as expected.  

Perhaps because he had already thoroughly beaten them senseless?  

“Everyone, apologize.”  

Roben ordered the entire knight unit.  

All of them, including the knights whose faces were bruised and wrapped in bandages, bowed their heads.  

“We’re sorry.”  

“We were foolish.”  

“You’ve taught me a lesson. I’d like to seek your guidance again in the future.”  

“Amazing for someone so young. I’m sorry for looking down on you when we first met.”  

“Losing an arm for disrespecting my opponent was a cheap price to pay for training. Thank you.”  

It wasn’t satisfying.  

Something felt stifled.  

A sensation like his throat was completely blocked.  

‘Why don’t I feel relieved?’  

…That suffocating feeling only dissipated when he received the massive compensation.  

“Here you go. This is the mission fee and the gold coins from our bet that you won.”  

Roben smiled and handed over a pouch.  

A heavy, jingling sound rang out.  

An involuntary “Wow” escaped Sion’s lips.  

“Please consider this an additional amount we’re giving separately as a gesture of apology.”  

The answer was financial therapy.  

Sion realized he preferred tangible rewards over abstract notions like apologies or honor.  

‘From now on, I should demand apologies in material form.’  

Sion smiled, and the goddess, watching him, clutched her stomach and burst into giggles.  

A holy knight who loved material things was rare indeed.  

“If we had fought you, we would’ve suffered heavy casualties. Thanks to you, no one died.”  

“Yes. That’s fortunate.”  

Sion nodded awkwardly.  

Being openly praised made it hard to know how to react.  

Roben continued,  

“We plan to return now. Are you heading back to Elim, Sir Sion?”  

“Yes. I’ve made some money, after all.”  

Jingle—  

Sion chuckled, patting the heavy pouch.  

The Order of the Holy Sword members found his unexpectedly materialistic side amusing.  

Sion was acting nothing like how he looked.  

The War Cult disciple who had been disliked before was now gone.  

Here stood a prodigy acknowledged and accepted by the Order of the Holy Sword.  

“I see. In any case, please take care, Sir Sion. The fact that demon worshippers appeared in the heart of the empire, and that they tampered with a sacred relic… The omens are not favorable.”  

“I’ll make sure to report it.”  

“Yes. We plan to inform our headquarters upon our return.”  

Roben smiled somewhat awkwardly and said,  

“I’ll make sure to properly convey your heroic deeds.”  

“Please speak kindly. The War Cult isn’t just a gathering of warmongers.”  

“Ahem. That’s embarrassing.”  

“I’m glad you understand. Haha.”  

The atmosphere was warm and friendly.  

Considering their first meeting, it was astonishing progress.  

Sion had been overwhelmingly dominant, and the Order of the Holy Sword knights had readily acknowledged it—only then could such reconciliation occur.  

“Oh, and… the merchant guildmaster of Foils wishes to invite you.”  

“Me?”  

“Yes. After hearing about you, he became curious. He wants to treat you as a gesture of gratitude.”  

“I see.”  

“You may politely decline if you wish.”  

“No.”  

The guildmaster of Foils must be a powerful figure.  

Sion judged it beneficial to establish a connection.  

“I’ll go and meet him.”  

“Very well. Just state your affiliation and name at the city gate, and you’ll be taken care of.”  

“Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you.”  

“Sir Sion.”  

Roben’s voice suddenly turned serious, shattering the pleasant mood.  

He called Sion with a grave tone.  

“Yes?”  

“I’d like to… request a sparring match.”  

“A sparring match?”  

“You haven’t faced me yet, have you? Could I ask for one bout before you leave?”  

In truth, Roben hadn’t slept a wink all night.  

After witnessing Sion take down the demon, he had been utterly shocked.  

He had felt a kind of wall.  

Roben had honed his sword as a devoted ascetic.  

He was considered one of the most talented within the Church of Light.  

He had joined the Holy Sword Order at a young age.  

His skill was recognized, and he had rapidly advanced.  

He knew he had talent with the sword.  

For ten years, he had dedicated his entire life to mastering it.  

And yet…  

‘My sword, sharpened for over ten years, couldn’t even reach him? Against a boy who just picked up a sword? Is this really true?’  

This fact was unacceptable.  

All night, he had clenched his pillow and gritted his teeth.  

He kept waking up gasping for breath.  

This wasn’t just a simple defeat.  

It was the fall of an ascetic.  

Would he run away like this? No.  

He wanted to fight until the end.  

That was why he requested this sparring match.  

‘I want to know my current level.’  

He repeated it endlessly in his heart.  

Let me prove myself.  

If I draw my sword and overcome my fear, there will still be hope.  

But if I’m crushed by fear again—  

‘Then… I’ll never be able to hold a sword again.’  

He struggled to shake off that ominous premonition.  

Even if only to avoid regret, he wanted to face Sion’s sword today.  

“Alright.”  

Breaking through his inner turmoil, Sion gave a cheerful reply. Roben lifted his head.  

Sion walked to the center of the camp and stood there.  

Roben clenched his fist tightly and stood up.  

“Show us, Vice-Commander!”  

“This is a matter of the Order of the Holy Sword’s pride!”  

The cheers of his comrades were drowned out.  

He simply advanced and stood before Sion.  

‘……’  

He saw the boy’s face, calm like a lake at dawn.  

It was unreadable, as if the boy had transcended all emotion.  

Roben bit his parched lips tightly.  

‘Am I deifying this boy too much?’  

Roben abruptly grabbed his own hand.  

It wouldn’t stop trembling.  

If he lost again from within his heart, he felt he would never be able to wield a sword again.  

‘Overcome it, Roben. If you lose here, it’s over. Draw the sword.’  

The goal was simple.  

To draw his sword in front of Sion.  

Swinging it was a problem for later.  

Overcome the fear.  

Just the fear. Somehow.  

Sion had borrowed a sword and brought it.  

Ssshh.  

He drew it casually, as if this sparring meant nothing to him.  

‘Don’t be overwhelmed. He’s just a boy.’  

Roben took a deep breath and stood before Sion.  

They exchanged formal salutes, stating their affiliations and ranks.  

“Roben Rehinart, Vice-Commander of the 5th Sword Unit of the Order of the Holy Sword. I humbly request to learn from you.”  

“Sion of the War Cult. I look forward to it.”  

Roben grasped the hilt of his sword.  

His palms were so sweaty they felt slippery.  

He didn’t wipe them.  

If he let go here, it would be over.  

Roben focused and looked at Sion.  

The boy’s head only reached his chin, yet why did he appear so massive?  

It was like an illusion.  

Roben tightly shut his eyes.  

‘Believe in yourself. Believe in ten years of blood and sweat, Roben!’  

Roben tightened his grip. He struggled with all his might to visualize drawing and swinging the sword.  

But he couldn’t.  

His arm wouldn’t move.  

His body was frozen.  

No matter how hard he tried to imagine it, the scene of drawing the sword wouldn’t appear.  

He was like a statue.  

‘Ah! Damn it, you idiot! You moron!’  

No, it was impossible.  

At first, he couldn’t imagine winning. Now, he couldn’t even picture drawing his sword.  

This was fear.  

Not mere tension.  

His body and mind were overwhelmed by Sion.  

At that moment, Sion’s shadow loomed gigantic.  

A dark presence filled the surroundings.  

No—he was the same as before, but Roben had shrunk.  

Sion did nothing.  

He simply stood there, holding his sword.  

And yet, Roben couldn’t even breathe.  

‘Ah.’  

He was overwhelmed.  

Drip, drip…  

Sweat poured down Roben’s chin like rain. His body trembled violently.  

“I… I surrender…”  

Roben let go of his sword.  

His face was pale.  

He realized it.  

Once again, he hadn’t even drawn his sword.  

Without fighting, he had collapsed on his own.  

“I’ve learned something, Sir Roben.”  

Sion’s voice was calm.  

“What… did you learn?”  

“The way of fighting through imagination.”  

“Hah.”  

Roben laughed bitterly.  

It wasn’t wrong.  

The match had ended without them even clashing swords.  

Just as Roben had fought in his mind, Sion had also fought in imagination.  

‘No wonder I’m not surprised he discovered mental training on his own.’  

It was a method only attainable at a certain level.  

Roben himself had taken years to barely master it.  

And this boy…  

Detached, Roben asked one last question.  

“Is there any way I could win?”  

“It was fifty-fifty.”  

“Fifty-fifty?”  

Roben’s eyes widened.  

“Yes. Sir Roben, your openings are extremely hard to spot, so it was difficult. You’re an outstanding swordsman. You’re not vice-commander for nothing.”  

It was a sincere answer.  

Not pity, not condescension.  

Pure, untainted honesty.  

To Roben, those words felt even more hollow.  

He had collapsed without fighting, yet in Sion’s imagination, Roben had fought without giving up.  

‘I… killed myself. How shameful.’  

Roben smiled bitterly and extended his hand for a handshake.  

“May fortune favor you, Sir Sion. Next time, let’s have a real match, not just in imagination.”  

“I’ll look forward to it. Take care on your journey.”  

***  

After sending off the Order of the Holy Sword, Sion headed to Foils.  

From his brief experience, he realized that skill with a sword alone couldn’t solve everything.  

Even with the name of the Order of the Holy Sword behind them, overpowering them by force didn’t mean smooth sailing in all matters.  

‘Politics, religion, connections… Since I don’t live alone, many things are intertwined.’  

His master, Garfenn, had been utterly solitary. He ate alone, and due to his grotesque scars, avoided facing others directly. That was his own kind of complex.  

Garfenn would have declined the merchant guildmaster’s invitation and returned straight to Elim.  

‘I think I finally understand why our cult is so isolated.’  

Sion actually disliked such troublesome matters. If anything, he was similar in temperament to Garfenn.  

But now, he had become the one responsible for leading the War Cult after Garfenn.  

So he had to change, even if he didn’t want to.  

At the very least, he should lead it in a better direction than his master.  

Garfenn had cleared the barren land and turned it into usable ground.  

Now, it was Sion’s turn to sow seeds and cultivate crops.  

‘Let’s give it a try.’  

Building connections with influential merchants and establishing networks would ultimately be an offering to the goddess.  

Sion stood before the gate guards. It was his turn.  

“State your affiliation and name.”  

“I am Sion of the War Cult. I’ve been invited by the guildmaster.”  

“Oh, yes! Please wait a moment.”  

Fortunately, the guards seemed to have been informed.  

Shortly after, a carriage appeared before Sion. The insignia of the Foils Merchant Guild was prominent.  

Inside the carriage sat a man with a sword, waiting for Sion.  

“I am the attendant of Guildmaster Apur. I will escort you to him.”  

As Sion stepped into the carriage, a nobleman’s or outlaw’s carriage, he thought:  

I’ve made it. I’ve really made it.

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